


Is There Somewhere

by sailortaire



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles' POV, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailortaire/pseuds/sailortaire





	Is There Somewhere

I remember the first time I saw you, at my father's palace, the way your cheeks flushed whenever I glanced at you.

I remember that day on the beach, the kiss we shared, first out of countless others.  
  
I remember Chiron's cave, sleeping next to you every night, wishing I could make sense of the raging storm inside my heart.  
  
I remember the first time I touched you, that night too long ago, the night I understood that we are one, our stings tangled together on The Fates' loom, fraying at the edges and stained red with blood, yours and mine.  
  
  
I have realized that it is wrong to love you. I know that you love me, and I love you, but that is not enough. Sometimes I wonder if it ever was.  
  
  
I am not good for you. I see fear in people's eyes when I come back from fighting, slicked with blood as if it was oil. I know you think there is good in me, but there isn't. The only good I have is you, and even I cannot keep you from harm.  
  
  
I know what they say, I hear their whispers deep into the night, I listen to them with you curled into me. They say that my death is tied with Hector's, that once he dies I will be close after.  
  
I see flashes of him everywhere in battle; it distracts my hands as they glide my spear into men's chests, one after the other. I only fear my death because you will not be there with me.  
  
It is a bad omen that our love takes place in war: love bred out of war can only breed hate- whose I cannot tell just yet.  
  
Perhaps it is Aphrodite herself who hates us. After all, her golden couple compared to us is nothing, for she knows better than anyone that true love cannot be forced, even by her hand. It must occur naturally, and what of Paris and Helen's love is natural?

  
I was never promised to you; both of us know that. I am afraid, sometimes, that you are bitter about that fact. Bitter about my having a son, bitter about me having lain with another other than you.

You know you are the only one who can make me feel. Sometimes I wonder if I even have a soul, if I was forbidden one because it would make me mortal. But whenever I look at you, I am assured. My soul rests with yours, in your body, where it is safe. 

And, for now, I can dream.


End file.
